It’s said pathogens
Have one aim; to reproduce.
We no different.
n.b. Dress life up as we might, but without children we have no legacy; we die out as a species. All we do has no meaning without the generations that follow. We are otherwise just marking time.
The sociability of humanity is how we ensure that children can thrive so they too can mature to take up the task of reproduction. It is an inclusive process.
Cooperation not competition.
Welcome break in rain
showers so strong they strip paint
trees unmoved drip dry
Pursuit of the ¥en
Or something more, or much less?
Whither goes Japan?
n.b. Population growth and over population is a topic of current concern as a levelling off in the global number of homo sapiens is now predicted over the next generation or so.
Japan’s current government is considering funding IVF treatment for it’s young couples who may be struggling to conceive. The current birth rate in Japan is around 1.36 which is well below the replacement rate.
Where will they get the young people from to care for an ageing population? 25% of Japan’s population is aged over 65 years.
The fall in birth rate has been attributed in part by the Deputy Prime Minister to women choosing not to have children. He has been castigated for his simplistic and one-eyed male opinion on the data.
Perhaps women have paths to fulfilment other than producing Salarymen? Perhaps they have become Salarywomen (which is tellingly identified by this software as a spelling error)? Perhaps the way of the modern world is not an attractive prospect enough to carry a man’s seed before delivering babies to a climate disrupted, polluted, exploitative planet? Maybe Japanese couples have decided the time has come for the human species to move on and leave the planet to life better adapted to an aquatic environment?
In the short term immigration can solve the problem for ageing populations. Germany, Italy, France, CH and the UK (amongst other wealthier nations) face similar questions around population. Is it a problem?
We are discovering, as we peel off the layers, that money isn’t everything.
Rush of passing car
Disturbs still autumn morning
Leaf mould scents sunlight
When this wind blows
Things sound different
After the leaves have dropped
To mosaic the floor.
This wind bends through the bared boughs
Divides to draughts between the trunks
Blows low notes from the wood
Makes this place an instrument
For mournful tunes
When we hear this hollow overture
Howling from beeches and birches
We can be certain winter approaches
Leaves, starfish, fingers
Five is a magic number
One of the many.
Odd isn’t it, five? Or should we count the stalk, the wrist, the foot? Then it’s six and even.